The Manor
by Aidan Peverell
Summary: Conner Malfoy reflects on the tumultuous relationship between his parents, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy  DhrNon HBP & DH compatible


The Manor

It was difficult living with them as my parents.

The nights of unimagineable terror- the screaming- the pain. I would hide under my covers and wait for the screaming to subside into sobbing and then run into my father's office, where I would always find her- on the floor, crying. As I would stare at her, she would notice me and hastily wipe her tears away and smile. She would ask me to come closer, to let her hold me. She would whisper in my ear- "Everything would be alright." But I know that it wouldn't be alright. Not until this war ended.

From the beginning, I knew that I wasn't supposed to be alive. I was conceived when Draco Malfoy, during a raid on the Oerder of the Phoenix's Headquarters, raped one of their leaders, Hermione Granger. Of course, my mother wouldn't take away my life, no matter who the father was. She hid herself from my father during the duration of her pregnancy, rightfully fearing for my safety if Voldemort's right hand man were to discover my existence.

But he did, eventually. He tracked us down to a shitty apartment in the middle of Muggle London, just a few days after I was born. To my mother's surprise, he was beyond happy when he found out that I was his son. Of course, it wasn't for the resons that my mother was hoping for. He needed me and my mother for two reasons- the first reason being that he just ordered his late wife excecuted for sleeping with another man. Amd secondly, he needed a backup plan if his side lost. He would be able to hide behind my mother, the friend of Harry Potter, whe the Aurors came.

Of course, he didn't tell this to my mother when he demanded that they get married. My mother only agreed because she needed to protect me and herself under the influential Malfoy name. Harry Potter and a great number of other freedom fighter had just been brutally massacred, and she began to fear for her safety- what would happen to me if she died? Would I be put into the massive bonfires fueled by the small, broken bodies of the children of Muggles, Muggleborns, and freedom fighters? The only option was to marry my father.

So I grew up in the massive halls of the Malfoy Manor, always anxiously watched by my mother and almost always ignored by my father. It was a scary place. When I first began to walk, I always ended up outside my father's office, listening as he made deals with other Death Eaters, punishing my mother, or entertaining another woman. When other women were in the Manor, they would always pick me up and pinch my cheeks, completely oblivious of the burning hate I felt for them , even at the young age of two. Why were they here? Why did Mother drink that weird red liquid whenever they were in my father's study?

Mother only seemed happy when Father permitted her to buy her favorite instruments and play them for me. The corner of my nursery was croweded by guitars, violas, flutes, and tiny keyboards my mother permitted me to play with instruction. The instrument we played toghether the most was the guitar. Before I could even read, we would play complicated duets with each other until our fingers would sore. Then, she would pat my head and kiss my cheek, then we would move onto another instrument that wouldn't irritate our fingers. The times that I played with Mother in that little room will be cherished forvever in my memory.

Of course, the mysterious aura that enraptured Mother when we played music dissapeared come dinner time and Father was around. I would gush about our activities of the day while Father would look at Mother criticisingly. When my anecdote would fade into awkward silence, then Father would ask Mother what she was doing about my lisp. She would always reply heatedly that it was because my soft palate didn't forn all the way yet, which was normal for a three year old. "Not for a Malfoy," Father would always reply.

Nighttime became the most stressful part of the day by far. The screaming would never cease, and I would always her the telltale _thud _of Mother's body hitting the floor as Father held her there, screaming endlessy, wishing that she was dead, that I was dead, that we were too much trouble... Later, she would hold me in her arms and say "Daddy is just confused... shhh, it will be alright, I promise..."

Mother strived to discover what was wrong with Father, when she found out the he was just sexually frustrated, she did the only things that she could do in her power. I was four, and she put me to bed, nervously biting her lip after she kissed me goodnight.

It was eerily quiet that night, and so was the morning. Mother avoided Father's eyes, and he had the widest smirk ever as he stared at my mother to her growing discomfort.

AN

Yay! I'm back!


End file.
